


No (Well, just for you)

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: After the Flames [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Fingon and Maglor are both named 'Kano', Fingon can be petty, Finrod and Turgon are a package deal, Finrod can be a pushover, Gen, Mis-identification, Post Thangorodrim, Turgon is petty, but only when he's worried
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:44:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon is less than pleased to allow Maglor to see his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No (Well, just for you)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning - Very minor depictions/references of injury.

Fingon shook his head, turning from where he stared at the healer’s tent flap. “No,” he repeated. 

Fingolfin shook his head. “Findekano, I will not order you, but I think-“

“No.”

“Hear me out.” Fingolfin ran his fingers through his son’s hair, damp from the bath he had just taken. “Maitimo may very well want this.” 

“And he may not. I certainly don't see why he should.” 

"Because they are his brothers.”

“They left him there to die.” Fingon paced back and forth in front of Maedhros’ tent, flap still closed as the healers were not finished with him.

“Family must be forgiving.”

Fingon snorted. “Forgiveness does not run in his line it seems.” 

“Let Maitimo himself decide, please. What will you do, ban Kanofinwë from seeing his brother? Rely solely on your word?”

“I do not care about Kanofinwë – or his brothers’ – feelings. This is not about them. They are not important.” 

“Whether you like it or not, Kanofinwë is our King.”

“Nelyo is the King.” 

"I do not think he remembers his own name, Findekano. How then can he rule?” 

Fingon turned away from his father. He had not elaborated on his rescue, on Maedhros’ words during the rescue, it had been too painful. “He remembers.”

“Then he may wish to speak with his brothers.” 

“I don't-“

“This isn't about you!” For the first time in their conversation Fingolfin truly seemed to lose his temper, standing tall and glaring at his son. He softened his voice and said, “This is about Maitimo.” 

Fingon didn't reply, he turned his back on his father and resumed staring at the tent.

“Promise me that you will not dissuade Nelyo, if he wants to see his brothers.” 

“I promise,” Fingon spat.

Xxxxxx

Maedhros was silent when Fingon was finally allowed to see him. His eyes were closed, but the healer said she thought he was still awake, but probably wouldn't be for very long.

“He asked for you my lord,” the healer whispered as she left. 

“Nelyo?” He whispered. He sat on the side of the bed, stroking his cousin’s shoulder, wanting him to know who was there, that he was safe. “Nelyo, I'm here.” He purposefully focused on Maedhros’ face, which had been left – possibly mockingly – unblemished by his captors. He would not – could not – look at the bandaged stump, lying uselessly above Maedhros, the arm still above his head, the only way his tortured muscles could allow after he had hung that way for so long.

“Kano?” He whispered. 

“Yes.” 

“Kano.” He smiled, seemingly oblivious to his dry, chapped lips which began to seep blood at the movement.

“I'm right here, you're safe. I promise.” 

Fingolfin slid into the tent, and gave his son a reassuring smile. He approached the cot and knelt beside Maedhros, frowning as he observed the damage. His hand ghosted across Maedhros’ forehead, and ran through the brittle remnants of red hair.

“Tykelo?” 

"He is well. Your brothers are fine.” 

His smile faded, and he seemed almost confused. “Our brothers.” 

“No.” Fingon tilted his head, wondering what Maedhros meant. Fingolfin swallowed nervously.

The injured elf’s eyes opened, and he stared at his cousin and frowned. “Finno?” 

“Yes.” 

Fingolfin tapped his nephew’s cheek to draw his attention. “When you said Kano, did you mean Kanofinwë?” 

“Kano,” he repeated, staring curiously at his uncle.

Fingon stiffened, feeling a mix of hatred, anger, and jealously welling in his stomach. 

“Our mistake,” Fingolfin soothed. “We can have your brother here in no time. Just rest.” His ran his fingers along Maedhros’ cheek, hoping to reassure him. 

Maedhros relaxed, closing his eyes. He drifted off to sleep in just moments. Fingon stood and stiffly left the tent. Fingolfin followed behind him a moment later. 

Fingon was several feet away before his father caught him, breathing deep and nearly shaking. “Relax,” Fingolfin urged. “It isn't worth losing your temper.”

“Why?”

Fingolfin knew his son wasn't refering to his command, but rather to the entire incident as a whole. “He’s worried about his little brothers. He knows you are well, now he wants to see them.” 

“I will go and get him, if that's what Nelyo wants. I promised.” 

“No. You stay here and rest. I will send someone.”

“Who?” Fingon asked. “Turukano? Irissë?”

“Of course not, we want Kanofinwë in one piece after all. No I shall send your cousin.”

“Which cousin?” 

Xxxxxxx

Maglor ignored the continued banging on his door. 

"Kano get up!” 

He finally sat up an stretched, wondering idly why Celegorm was beating down his door in the dead of night. “Yes?”

“Finrod and Turgon came to see you!” 

Maglor stood, pulled a blanket around his shoulders, and padded to the door. He opened it an crack and asked, “Why?” 

“They won't say, just that it's ‘important’. They're in your office with Curufin.” 

“Give me a moment.” Maglor shut his door an hastily dressed. He strode down the nearly deserted hallways of – could it be called a palace? It was ramshackle at best, but it was the sturdiest, largest building in his settlement, and where the remaining sons of Feanor dwelled. But Maglor couldn't bring himself to call it anything particular; not palace, municipal building, certainly not home.

True to Celegorm’s word, Turgon and Finrod were waiting in his office, sitting side-by-side, and staring across the room at Celegorm and Curufin, who had remained standing, and were staring back distrustfully. 

“Cousins,” Maglor greeted warmly, pushing his well-rehearsed smile onto his lips. “What brings you?” 

“Uncle wishes to meet with you,” Finrod replied without preamble. 

“Why?” Maglor asked.

“Actually it's wonderful-“ Finrod began brightly, but Turgon stepped on his foot and glared at him.

“We agreed,” he hissed. Then he turned to Maglor and haughtily said, “Your Uncle, your elder, has respectfully asked for your presence and that should be enough.” His voice left little room for argument, and Maglor was too tired to press him.

“Of course. Allow me to fetch my cloak.” He left the room, and was immediately pounced by by Celegorm and Curufin. 

“Are you mad?” Celegorm demanded. “You can't go!” 

“I neither like nor trust them,” Curufin said. 

“It's not your decision. And besides, if it were only Turukano I would hesitate, but Findarato is far too nice to be completely up to no good.”

“We will go with you.” 

“No,” Maglor said sternly. “I was invited and I shall go. Do not follow me, unless you have not heard from me by tonight and have reasonable cause to doubt my safety. Am I understood?” He met Curufin’s eyes.

“Yes,” they replied sullenly.

“Excellent. Now, keep an eye on Moryo and don't let Pityo worry. Tykelo, you are the eldest, you are in charge until I return.” Maglor took his cloak from Curufin, and wrapped it tightly around his shoulders. “Don't worry.” 

The ride was short and silent. Occasionally Finrod would look his way, as though wanting to start a conversation, but he would either meet Turgon’s eye, then turn away, or sigh and turn away of his own accord. When they reached Fingolfin’s encampment, Maglor dismounted and passed the reins to a waiting servant. Fingolfin was awaiting them, a sullen Fingon at his side. 

“Uncle.” Maglor bowed his head politely. 

Fingolfin and Fingon both bowed, though reluctantly. “There is someone for you to see,” Fingolfin said, giving his eldest a light push.

Fingon met Maglor’s eyes defiantly. “Follow me.” 

Confused and uncertain, Maglor followed his cousin through the encampment, trying to ignore the leers and glares directed at him. He had not expected a warm welcome after all, even if he was invited. Fingon stopped in front of a tent, once again looking hard at Maglor. “Know this,” he snarled. “I don't want you here.”

“I am grateful,” Maglor replied, though he still didn't know why he was here. 

Fingon pushed aside the tent flap, and Maglor stepped inside.

**Author's Note:**

> In case it wasn't obvious, Finrod was asked to fetch Maglor, but Turgon just invited himself along.


End file.
